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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631073">iNcHeS aNd WoRlD's In BeTwEeN uS—</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>COVID-19 - Fandom, Theory of Relativity - Bartram/Hill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>#andthentheywerezoommates!, F/M, I don't actually know how zoom works, barely related to canon, corona made me do it, i hope you're happy, why am I writing your fics?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:42:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It began, of all things, as a conference call. In the middle of a pandemic. Not the most romantic of times and places huh? And yet, that’s how it began. The company had a proposal competition of some sort, they wanted ideas of how to revamp it after all the chaos had died down. The catch? Partners were assigned randomly and all communication were to be through zoom.</p><p>or: a love story through snippets of zoom meetings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amy/Bob, Person A/Person B</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>iNcHeS aNd WoRlD's In BeTwEeN uS—</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoesofstardust/gifts">echoesofstardust</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>18th March 2020: Amy</strong>
</p><p>I remember the code: 093 562 1027. That was the code that decided my fate. </p><p><em> It’s like a blind date, </em> Jessica laughed when I told her.</p><p>I shot her a pointed look, <em> It’s stupid. </em></p><p>Rolling my eyes, I typed in the code and pressed join. So many other people have it way worse than me. Besides, it’s only for 8 weeks right? What could happen in 8 weeks?</p><p> </p><p>I think I see him before he sees me. The way he’s fingers were absentmindedly drumming on his desk like that. I clear my throat,</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Robert right?”</p><p> </p><p>He snaps back to attention, fixing his tie and sitting up straight with a nervous laugh,</p><p> </p><p>“Uh yeah, you’re Anastasia?”</p><p> </p><p>I blurt out a response,</p><p> </p><p>“Uh huh, it’s a long story but... you can call me Amy.”</p><p> </p><p>He looks at me quizzically, turning his head slightly, but doesn’t ask, instead smiling,</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, Amy, only my nonna calls me Robert, so you can call me Bob— but there’s no story behind it.”</p><p> </p><p>I laugh. <em> Why did I need to say that?  </em></p><p>He leans forward in his chair.</p><p> </p><p>“So where are you from Bob?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well mate, I’m from the land down unda’. Currently in Sydney but my family lives in the Wheatbelt.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wheatbelt?”</p><p> </p><p>“In Western Australia, we have a cattle farm near this little town called Merredin, out in the middle o’ the outback. Where are you from?”</p><p> </p><p>“Born and bred in Yorkshire, just outside of London— but I grew up moving around England.”</p><p> </p><p>I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and readjust the lapel of my blazer. </p><p> </p><p>“Huh, kind of like opposite ends of the world,” he muses, his ocean blue eyes looking away from the screen momentarily.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose,” I agree, pulling out a stack of notes. “So do you want to get started?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <strong>31st March 2020: Bob</strong>
</p><p>I stash away my notebook on top of my growing pile of files by my desk, before sitting back down and looking at the woman across the screen. We both looked at each other for a few seconds.</p><p> </p><p>“So, um, how’s the weather there?” I ask lamely, just desperate to fill the ocean of silence between us.</p><p> </p><p>She laughs, content to play along,</p><p>“Cold and dreary. A typical London spring day. How about you? I hear Australian weather’s a lot warmer than London weather.”</p><p> </p><p>I smile back,</p><p>“Yeah, it was a scorcher today for mid-March. The surf was pretty good this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a surfer?”</p><p> </p><p>I run a hand through my hair,</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to be a surfer— since I was a kid. A little hard when you live out in the middle of the outback you know?”</p><p> </p><p>She shifted in her chair, coming closer to her laptop,</p><p>“Is that why you moved to Sydney?”</p><p> </p><p>I sigh,</p><p>“Kinda, I guess. I’ve always known I wanted to live by the water. I moved to Sydney for this job really, it was just a plus to move close to the water.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wow, I couldn’t live that far from my family. Was it hard to adjust?”</p><p> </p><p>I snort,</p><p>“Oh yeah, in Merredin everyone kinda knew everything about everyone. So to go from that to a giant city where you didn’t know anyone and no one knew you, it was a big adjustment for sure.”</p><p> </p><p>I looked over at her, listening intently from across the world,</p><p>“But there was a kind of… anonymity ya know? Like Sydney’s so big, I could be anyone I wanted to be.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” she says thoughtfully, “I’ve never really thought about living in the city like that.”</p><p> </p><p>I watch as she looks away from the screen, looking out of the window that was streaming in the golden afternoon light.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t like the city, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>She turns back,</p><p>“Ah well, I don’t know, it’s just so big and busy. There’s just no stopping…”</p><p> </p><p>“What time is it there?” I ask, “It looks like it’s late afternoon.”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles,</p><p>“Yeah, just after 5. What time is it there?”</p><p> </p><p>I look around my darkened apartment, the streets below, for once, quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, well, it’s quarter past 2 here.”</p><p> </p><p>“In the afternoon?”</p><p> </p><p>“In the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>She gasps exasperatedly,</p><p>“Oh my god, Bob, you need to sleep! No wonder it’s so dark over there!”</p><p> </p><p>I laugh good naturedly, </p><p>“Don’t worry about me Amy, it’s all good.”</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head,</p><p>“No, it’s not. I can’t believe I completely forgot to look at the time zones! Why didn’t you say anything?”</p><p> </p><p>I just shrug. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. Something about the afternoon sun over there and how it filters through her apartment and hair like that. She pulls something up on her screen and types something in.</p><p> </p><p>“How about at 6 pm? It would be 9 in the morning over here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” I smile.</p><p> </p><p>She smiles too, and for a second nothing was said. And a connection was made. Across the oceans and continents between us. A bond.</p><p> </p><p>Until she snaps back to attention with a grin and comical wag of her finger,</p><p>“Now off to bed mister! It’s late!”</p><p> </p><p>I laugh, something warm settling inside of me.</p><p>“It’s actually early, but alright.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs,</p><p>“Sweet dreams, Bob.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <strong>14th April 2020: Amy</strong>
</p><p>I don’t love Bob, okay? He’s just… he’s good company. He’s funny and sweet and smart and—</p><p>But I don’t love him. Right?</p><p> </p><p>We were laughing over something I’d said. I don’t remember what it was now, it probably wasn’t that funny anyway, but I remember the both of us bending over our laptops in raucous laughter, when I heard a little <em> meow </em> through the speakers.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have a cat?”</p><p> </p><p>He looks up at me, his hair slightly dishevelled and tie askew.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh yeah, I’ve got two.”</p><p> </p><p>He bends down and out of the screen, before standing up with a cat in each arm.</p><p>“Alright Amy, meet my two troublemakers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Awwwww,” I smile before laughing, “give me a sec.”</p><p> </p><p>I come back carrying my own cats.</p><p> </p><p>“Ta-da!”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs again, his blue eyes shimmering like the ocean.</p><p>“What are their names?”</p><p> </p><p>I gesture to the black one, “This is Alexander, he’s my sister’s,” and I pick up the white one, “And this is Meowser, he’s mine.”</p><p>I look over at the screen at your cats,</p><p>“What are their names?”</p><p> </p><p>He looks at me seriously,</p><p>“You won’t laugh?”</p><p> </p><p>I scoff, patting Meowser,</p><p>“Why would I laugh?”</p><p> </p><p>He lifts the tabby in his left arm, “Well this is Cookiepuss,” and then lifts the calico patched one in his right, “and this is Miss Mew.”</p><p> </p><p>There was something about him naming his cats something so… cute.</p><p> </p><p>“It suits them Bob.”</p><p> </p><p>He turns to me as if surprised,</p><p>“You don’t think their names are silly?”</p><p> </p><p>I cock my head to the side,</p><p>“No, Cookiepuss looks like a Cookiepuss.”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs with something like disbelief,</p><p>“I can’t believe it, I’ve always tried to tell people that, but no one seems to understand it!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>23rd April 2020: Bob</strong>
</p><p>I like Amy. She’s amazing. And she didn’t laugh at my cats’ names. What more could you want?</p><p> </p><p>“So how are you coping in isolation?” I ask her, “I heard it’s pretty bad in London.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” she sighs, “my sister’s a nurse at one of the hospitals in central London, she told me they actually started using diving masks to make ventilators”</p><p> </p><p>“Damn.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’m just lucky I get to work from home. I’m not doing too bad in isolation, I’ve gotten used to it. You?”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, same, I can still go out surfing, so I’m doing okay.”</p><p> </p><p>She chuckles,</p><p>“I suppose let’s all you really need, your surfboard and the ocean, and you’re set.”</p><p> </p><p>I shake my head with a smile,</p><p>“And these zoom meetings with you. And then I’m good for isolation.”</p><p> </p><p>She looks at me with a strange furrowing of her brow before she relaxes,</p><p>“We… we should probably start.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <strong>28th April 2020: Amy</strong>
</p><p>I like Bob. He’s… Bob. What isn’t there to like? I love the way he talks about his family and his love of surfing and his cats. I love the way he’s ditched his tie recently (maybe I love a little less the way he also decided to ditch his comb). Don’t get me wrong this Corona thing is terrible. People are dying. But I can’t help but be thankful that it brought us together, you know? </p><p> </p><p>He leans in towards the computer as if to share a secret,</p><p>“You know today, I went out to the shops for the first time in weeks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p> </p><p>“And I was walking down the pasta aisle and it was completely and utterly empty!”</p><p> </p><p>I laugh with the way his eyes grew wider in enthusiasm.</p><p> </p><p>“Empty Azzo! Empty!”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs too, </p><p> </p><p>“I spent five minutes pacing up and down that aisle, shoving my hand into the top shelves, until I found this.”</p><p> </p><p>He lifts up a tiny bag of macaroni.</p><p> </p><p>“Macaroni!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? What's wrong with macaroni?”</p><p> </p><p>“Amy, it’s macaroni! My nonna absolutely <em> hates </em> macaroni! If she finds out I’m cooking her special sauce with <em> macaroni— </em> she’s going to kill me!”</p><p> </p><p>I laugh,</p><p>“I’m sure she’ll understand. The only pasta I could find was something called gem— gemallo or something…”</p><p> </p><p>“Gemelli?” he gasps, “that’s Nonna’s favourite!”</p><p> </p><p>Miss Mew jumps onto his desk and paws away the bag of macaroni,</p><p>“See? Even Miss Mew knows macaroni <em> sucks. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>I laugh again, wondering <em> when was the last time someone made me laugh so hard? </em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <strong>11th May 2020: Bob</strong>
</p><p>I don’t think Amy knows how cute she is when she laughs. She has this dimple in her chin that only comes out when she laughs. And not when it’s a fake, <em> I’m just being polite </em> laugh— it only comes out with the kind laugh that comes out when Meowser sits on her keyboard and refuses to get off, and we’re stuck staring at each other and the growing string of gibberish on our google doc.</p><p> </p><p>“...and then he shouts ‘ya bloody rippa’ across the field and starts chasing the tractor! Mum’s just given up trying to wrangle him at this point.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs and sips from her glass of cognac,</p><p>“Blimey, your mum and dad sound great.”</p><p> </p><p>I bring the beer bottle to my lips,</p><p>“My dad’s a lad. Mum’s a champ. Wish I could talk to them, but the power lines have been down in Merredin ‘cos all this drama.”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts,</p><p>“Only you could call your own dad a lad and your mum a champ. I also can’t believe you’re drinking <em> Corona beer </em> for god’s sake! Don’t you think that’s a little insensitive?”</p><p> </p><p>I shrug,</p><p>“Mate, I went down to the bottle-o and this was the cheapest thing they had. Desperate times call for desperate measures you know?”</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes with a smile. I grin and drain the bottle, setting it on my desk, the burn of alcohol settling with the gentle warmth in my chest.</p><p> </p><p>“So how are your mum and dad doing?”</p><p> </p><p>She looks away from the screen. Did I say something wrong?</p><p> </p><p>“Amy?”</p><p> </p><p>She drinks the rest of her cognac.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never known my parents.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>11th May 2020: Amy</strong>
</p><p>There. I said it. My dirty little secret.</p><p> </p><p>“They passed away in an accident when I was six. It’s just been me and my little sister, Jess, ever since.”</p><p> </p><p>I refuse to look at the screen, I don’t want to see the pity. </p><p> </p><p>He starts, a little hesitant,</p><p>“Hey, Amy—”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry about it Bob, it was a long time ago.”</p><p> </p><p>I felt a twinge of guilt from snapping at him, tears welling up in my eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I… I know… I just wanted to tell you that— that they’re really proud of you. And… and it’s okay to… I dunno— miss them.”</p><p> </p><p>I harshly wipe away the tears that threatened to fall, </p><p> </p><p>“I— I’ve got to go. Don’t forget to finish up section C.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>11th May 2020: Bob</strong>
</p><p>She hastily clicked the hangup button and left. The gentle, warm feeling in my heart felt like it was being stamped out, replacing it with this slimy, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I have to do something. </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <strong>15th May 2020: Amy</strong>
</p><p>“Drumroll please!”</p><p> </p><p>Bob drummed on his desk in an excited, off-kilter rhyme. I laugh as my mouse hovers over the send button, my screen visible on both of our laptops. I see his face at the corner of my screen, alive with excitement.</p><p> </p><p>“Just press it woman!”</p><p> </p><p>I laugh,</p><p>“Aaaaaaand send!”</p><p> </p><p>I click the button and a whoosh sound effect reverberates through both our speakers. We dissolve into a fit of triumphant giggles.</p><p> </p><p>“We did it!” he smiles, lifting up Miss Mew from the carpet of his apartment and dancing her around clumsily. </p><p> </p><p>He’s drunk. He drops his poor cat and punches the air. Yep. Definitely drunk. </p><p>I laugh at his antics anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“So what happens now?”</p><p> </p><p>He looks at me as if he couldn’t believe I didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>“Mate, now we get drunk, cook some pasta and sing along to Disney movies.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” I chuckle, “so you’ve clearly covered part 1, how are we doing part 2 and 3?”</p><p> </p><p>“Check outside.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>He smiles excitedly,</p><p>“Just trust me.”</p><p> </p><p>I roll my eyes but stand anyway.</p><p>“Alright then…”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>15th May 2020: Bob</strong>
</p><p>She walks back into the room carrying a little cardboard box wrapped in an obscene amount of duct tape.</p><p> </p><p>“Bob wha—”</p><p> </p><p>“Please Azzo, just open it.”</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes in that exasperated way of hers but fumbles through her drawers anyway, pulling out a pair of scissors. I watch as she wrestles through the layers of duct tape. </p><p> </p><p>I wish so bad I could be there.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls out the cloves of garlic tightly wrapped in zip-lock bags. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s all this for?”</p><p> </p><p>I smile,</p><p>“I know you never really knew your family, but over the past few weeks, you’ve kinda become my family, you know? So tonight, you’re becoming an honorary member of my family! And since everyone in my family knows how to make Nonna’s special sauce, I wanna teach you— that is, if you want to?”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles, her eyes gleaming, </p><p>“Of— of course I would, Bob, thank you. I— I’ve never been really part of anyone’s family before.”</p><p> </p><p>My head feels light as I pick up my laptop, from the alcohol or from that warm, fuzzy feeling that had taken residence in my chest coming back, I’m not too sure.</p><p>“Well, I hope you’ve still got that gemelli pasta; to the kitchen!”</p><p> </p><p>The night passes in a blur of raucous laughter, bottles of corona and cognac and less than al dente pasta. It goes too quickly and I know I’m far too drunk to remember it all come morning. Somehow we find ourselves sitting in our respective dining tables with our bowls of pasta. And if I closed my eyes it’s almost like she was right in front me, just across the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Bob?”</p><p> </p><p>I open my eyes again, and she’s not across the table. She’s across oceans. She’s on the other side of the world. But she’s also sitting at my table. She’s also in my home. She’s also come into my life and taken my heart from right under my nose without having ever left her own apartment.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Her brows furrow in concern. I smile as reassuringly as my dopey, I’ve-had-<em> way </em>-too-many-drinks brain could manage.</p><p> </p><p>“Never been better.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>15th May 2020: Amy</strong>
</p><p>We stream a Disney movie. Because for some strange— but endearing— reason, a grown man like him pays for Disney+ for the animated movies. He sharescreens onto my laptop so we watch together. Like we were on some weird first date.</p><p> </p><p>But we didn’t really watch the movie. We talked. We talked about everything and nothing. I told you about the foster homes. And that feeling of never really belonging anywhere. He told me about growing up in a giant family in a tiny town. And that feeling of needing space for his own two feet. I told you about the fact I’d never really liked apples. And how my sister never quite understood. He told me that he completely understood, he liked oranges the best. And how oranges were like gold to him in the desert.</p><p> </p><p>He understood me. And I him. It was fast, I know, but I’d never met anyone like him before. It was like I had known before. And we were meeting again.</p><p> </p><p>“So why do you go by Amy when your name’s Anastasia?”</p><p> </p><p>I shrug lazily, once again topping up my glass. The alligator on the screen was playing some sort of trombone or something. The jazz was nice.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you: it’s a long story.”</p><p> </p><p>He barks out a laugh,</p><p>“Well, I’ve got the time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah… I think it starts—”</p><p> </p><p>A phone rings. It’s from his side of the world because the audio comes through as crackly and dulled down through the speakers. He snaps back, alert, and digs through his pockets. He looks at the caller ID and smiles excitedly.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry Azzo, it’s from my mum, the power must be back in Merredin, is it okay if I…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” I smile, “Go for it.”</p><p> </p><p>He smiles, stepping back and bringing the phone to his ear. I can’t hear what they were talking about but I watch as his excited face falls. That dopey, drunk playfulness melting away to concern. He nods slightly and hangs up the call.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s happening? Is everything alright?”</p><p> </p><p>He cards a hand through his hair and shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Nonna— Nonna’s had an accident on the farm a couple weeks back. They… they can’t get her to the hospital in the city with all the virus things going on. We… we don’t think she’s gonna make it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh Bob, I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head again, </p><p>“No, no, I’m sorry. I have to go. I— I‘ll call you back when I get back from Merredin.”</p><p> </p><p>“But after today, this code expires.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then— then I’ll find you.”</p><p> </p><p>“How?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll— ah, I’m so sorry Amy, I have to go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bob wait!”</p><p> </p><p>He pauses, looking at me expectantly from across the inches and worlds between our computer screens and our homes.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you wanna— after all this is over— I dunno, have a drink or something? You know, in person?”</p><p> </p><p>He smiles softly,</p><p>“Sure, a drink sounds good.”</p><p> </p><p>And with that, he closed the call one last time. I should have given him my phone number or email address or something, but somehow, for some reason, I was certain we’d see each other again. </p><p> </p><p>Our paths have collided once, we can do it again.</p><p> </p><p>I’m sure of it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Miss Thornton: zoom zoom!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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